


Press Play

by little_passions



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Inception Reverse Big Bang Challenge, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_passions/pseuds/little_passions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is a man of many talents. Maybe he's a guitar virtuoso. Maybe all he can play is Wonderwall. Maybe he's an expert at breakfast. Maybe he's got Arthur all figured out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Press Play

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Inception Reverse Big Bang 2014! Thank you so much to my lovely beta Angie. I'd be lost without you! And of course, this work also wouldn't have come to be [without the work that inspired it](http://the-secretsigns.livejournal.com/3916.html), so thanks also to my wonderful artist. ♥
> 
> A playlist for this fic can also be found [here](http://8tracks.com/the-secret-signs/press-play)! 
> 
> Extra comment for the story in order to prevent possible confusion: Two storylines are at play here - segments that are headlined by a song title are flashbacks, while those that start without one are set in the future.

****

“You’re not Mal.”

“You’re not Dom.”

Arthur didn’t let go of his bag and kept his eyes glued onto the man sitting on the windowsill. He was holding a guitar, and he looked nothing like anyone Arthur knew. Far too relaxed and casual looking, and also far too memorable a face. If he’d seen him before, Arthur was sure he would’ve remembered.

“Are you Arthur?” the man asked casually as he strummed his guitar lightly to a vaguely familiar tune. He tilted his head, and when Arthur didn’t respond, he chuckled. “I guess you are.”

“And you are…?”

“Eames.”

“Oh, so you’re Mal’s Eames?” Arthur asked as he walked over to the nearest counter and set his bag atop it. He rifled through his things, “Should I be worried that she called you in for this?”

Eames chuckled, “I just happened to be passing by. I’m not here to intrude on your lovely little trio of thieves.” He tapped the guitar idly and leaned back against the window frame. “Do you intend on sitting down any time soon, by the way? As much as I appreciate the look of your pants on you, I do believe it might be more comfortable for you to sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh Arthur, don’t be like that. We’re after the same rainbow’s end after all.”

Arthur stared at Eames and shrugged, “Should I be affected by the fact that you’ve chosen to quote some song?” He picked up his bag and set it down on the floor before he sat down on a nearby stool. “Are you leaving anytime soon? Or will you be staying to see the job through?”

“You dream maker, you heartbreaker, wherever you’re going, I’m going your way.” Eames sang, and Arthur rolled his eyes in response.

“Once again, Mr. Eames, I’m not impressed.”

The other laughed. “Should I play something more to your fancy then?”

“I’m not interested in anything in particular,” Arthur said finally as he stood up. He looked around. “What time did you say you got here? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Stayed awake just to see you arrive, darling. I couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to finally meet Mal’s lovely Arthur,” Eames replied as he set down the guitar by the window. “I shall now be retiring to the closet that Mal calls a guest room. If I wake up in time, I suppose we’ll be working together. If not, then I’ll see you when the next opportunity arises.”

“We’ll see about that. I don’t recall this job needing a forger.”

Eames’ grin widened. “So you are familiar with me after all Arthur? I’m flattered. Were you just feigning disinterest so as to avoid making me aware of your respect and affection?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned away so that he could start going through his documents. “Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”

 

\--

 

“Did I ever tell you, Ariadne, how close I was to becoming a rock star?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he could see Ariadne was fascinated. He couldn’t blame her entirely. It was mostly Eames’ fault, as usual. He was altogether far too charming and just as Ariadne had gotten fixated with Cobb somewhat during the inception job, Eames was becoming a new point of interest. Once again, he couldn’t blame her for that either.

“He imagines his life as a member of some band; just ignore him.”

“I’ll have you know that I am absolutely perfect for this job because out of all of us, I am the only one who is actually musically inclined,” Eames shot back as he met Ariadne’s eyes through the rearview mirror. “Could you imagine Arthur attempting to play something romantic on the guitar? Hardly.”

“I doubt anyone else could match your love for dramatics, Eames. You’d probably trash every hotel room you stayed in for a tour,” Ariadne added as she leaned back further into the seat. “I think you would’ve made a great rock star. Maybe you should quit dream share now and get back to where you really belong in life.”

“Just like you should go back to practicing actual architecture?” Eames laughed, and Arthur could feel Eames’ gaze on him. “I think not. I have far too lovely company with me at the moment, and I’ve reached the point in my life and in my career in which backing out is no longer an option.”

Silence fell over them when Ariadne eventually fell asleep, the exhaustion from her flight finally taking its toll. Eames fiddled with the radio for a while, and Arthur nitpicked at every song that played. With Ariadne’s presence in the car, Arthur felt like everything was terribly reminiscent of the old days. As usual, Eames had refused to drive and instead was far more preoccupied with what they would be listening to during the drive.

When Eames had gotten quiet, Arthur glanced at him. Eames was leaning against the glass of the car window, and when he felt Arthur’s eyes on him, he turned to look at him and smiled fondly. Eames reached out and briefly grazed his fingertips over the back of Arthur’s hand affectionately—a faint touch, and one done so quickly that even if she were awake, Ariadne wouldn’t have noticed.

Arthur turned his eyes back to the road, and as a new song played on the radio, Moon River of all things, Arthur couldn’t help but realize how much things had changed after all.

 

****   


“What is this?”

Eames turned around, and when he caught sight of what Arthur was holding in his hand, he smiled brightly. “It’s an early Christmas gift Arthur, I thought you might like it.”

Arthur waved the CD case. “I don’t need it.” But before he could toss it back it in Eames’ direction, Mal crept up behind him and plucked it out of his hands to look at it. He moved to grab it back from her, but she pushed him away and childishly ran over to the counter to get out of his reach.

“Since you have it, you might as well just give it back to Eames already.”

“But Arthur, you have to keep it. Nobody gives back Christmas presents,” Mal protested as she looked through the hastily made CD jacket. “For all the years I’ve known Eames, he’s never made anything for me himself, so I think you must keep this. It’s special and personal.”

It was a terrible sight, seeing Mal and Eames so in sync. Dom had warned him before that the two of them got along far too well, and now for the past two weeks, Arthur had been fully exposed to their bizarre friendship. They had far too much imagination and spirit—it was like they honestly believed that they could pull off anything and everything, and it had all thrown him off balance. Dom had never been spontaneous or wild for as far as Arthur had known him, and it was oddly tiring to be chasing after the two of them constantly. He was tired, but then again, it really could all be worse. After his last job involving being shot at by angry Russians, Arthur knew that without a doubt, he would much rather be running after Mal and Eames than running for his own life.

But then again, just because being stuck with them wasn’t his worst lot in life didn’t mean he wanted to be involved in all their little games and intricacies.

“I don’t want to keep it,” Arthur said finally as he walked over to grab the CD from Mal. “I don’t need it, Eames. I probably won’t even listen to it. You both know—”

“Well, we could just listen to it now,” Mal suggested as she completely overruled Arthur’s attempt at returning the CD. “I’ll go get the CD player. Hold onto this, Eames darling.” She hopped off her seat, placed a quick kiss to Arthur’s cheek, and ran up the stairs to fetch it from her room.

With the two of them left alone, Arthur avoided Eames’ gaze and settled for picking up the piece of buttered toast that Mal had left on her plate. He was two bites in when Eames finally spoke again.

“I spent a good three hours picking songs for that,” Eames said as he waved his fork at Arthur. “Did you even get me anything for Christmas, Arthur? I think not. It’s a lovely gift, Arthur, just accept it.”

“I don’t—”

Mal’s return to the room was signaled by her loud footsteps, and they both looked back to see her triumphantly come down the stairs with the CD player in hand. She held her free hand out, Eames tossed the CD case to her, and she caught it easily. Arthur let out a sigh and shoved the last of the toast into his mouth. He had nothing left to say or argue about. It was clear he was caught in a losing battle.

As soon as the first song started, Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Eames cut him off.

“More to Lose by Seona Dancing,” Eames explained. “Before Ricky Gervais came to be the funny man you all know him today, he was once the other half of a one-hit wonder pop duo that only found success in the Philippines.” He grinned at Arthur. “It’s a great song, Arthur, appreciate it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. ”I’ll do my best to try.”

Mal came over and handed him back the CD case. Arthur glanced at the case and shook his head in both dismay and amusement. He could feel Eames’ eyes on him, and instead of looking at him, he merely wiped off a faint smudge on the CD case.

“Is this going to be the first of many?”

“As many as you’d like,” Eames teased softly as Mal launched into an off-tune rendition of Non, Je Ne Regrette Nien in the background of the tiny apartment. Arthur remained silent, and if perhaps Eames had leaned in far too close to say far too few words, Arthur pretended not to notice.

 

\--

 

“This is an easy enough job. We don’t even need two levels, just one will suffice. What we need to extract from Russell is if he’s been making plans to leave the band,” Arthur explained as he pointed at the picture of the mark that was pinned onto a cork board. “However, Eames is the essential piece of the whole job since he’ll be forging one of the band’s former members—”

Eames dropped his guitar noisily from his spot in the corner of the room, and everyone’s eyes automatically turned to him. He grinned sheepishly and picked up the guitar from off the floor. He began to strum it. “Anyway... here’s Wonderwall.” As he began to sing, Arthur simply turned his attention away and tapped the corkboard again.

“Are you two paying attention?”

“I didn’t know Eames could play the guitar.”

“Eames is a man of many talents. Maybe he's a guitar virtuoso. Maybe all he can play is Wonderwall.” Yusuf shrugged and brought his drink up to his lips. “I’d say it’s best to ask Arthur if he’s been able to play anything else.”

Ariadne pursed her lips. “I hate how the best person to ask is Arthur. Arthur has to stop knowing things.” She finished the last of her drink in one gulp and motioned for another. “Arthur, can Eames play anything aside from Wonderwall?”

“He played Moon River one time.”

“How Audrey Hepburn of him,” Ariadne said with a sigh just as another drink appeared in front of her. “Did he play it by the window too?”

“I think he did.”

Yusuf scoffed. “I bet he planned that.”

Arthur chuckled as the memory came back to mind. “Yeah, I bet he did.”

 

** **

As usual, Eames hadn’t bothered to show up to the loft they’d selected as their base of operations. But then again, Arthur couldn’t quite blame him. Their team was made of some of the most paranoid people in dream share, and Arthur had only agreed to the job for the money. So, considering that Arthur was the only one who could handle being alone with Eames, he’d been unofficially appointed as Eames’ caretaker.

“Where are you?” Arthur asked as he locked up the loft. “Are you—”

“Just about to eat dinner, why?”

“Stevenson wants to make sure you’re still alive and doing your job. Can we meet?”

“Of course, Arthur, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

Arthur sighed and reluctantly named a nearby Chinese restaurant.

There were rumors of Eames, some terrible and others ridiculous, and some seemed more true than others—such as the gambling—but overall, Arthur could tell that Eames enjoyed the rumors and how they affected people in his presence. Forgers in general were eyed warily by most people in the industry, some of the more paranoid ones going as far as refusing to work with them. Just the knowledge that forgers made their way through the industry by studying and imitating set people on edge. The best forgers never made their presence or observation felt, but at every moment, most people suspected that they were being watched.

Arthur, on the other hand, welcomed and disliked Eames’ attention for various reasons. It was quite clear that Eames was attracted to him, and he to Eames. They weren’t children, so there wasn’t any point in pretending. However, neither of them had done much about anything. They were dancing around each other and constantly observing one another for something, and that was what made Arthur uncomfortable.

Just as he’d entered the restaurant, Arthur was surprised to see that Eames was already present. He walked up to Eames warily and sat down, refusing to return the other’s bright smile. “You’re early. I’m impressed.”

“A gentleman is never late,” Eames said simply as he toyed with his chopsticks. “I’ll also have you know that I am ready for two days from now and that I am also never going to work with these paranoid fucks ever again. You know I love money, Arthur, but even that isn’t worth being treated like a leper.”

“The rest of the team are…” Arthur stopped short, unsure of what to say. Paranoid fucks seemed like an appropriate term, but Arthur was a professional. “They’re not the sanest of people.”

Eames laughed. “Arthur, there are no sane people in dream share. There are only varying shades of crazy.” He smiled. “I can’t say I’ve seen the full extent of your insanity though.”

“Are you trying to imply I’m repressed?”

“Considering that the two of us are still dressed, I’d say so.”

“What did you—”

Before Arthur could finish speaking, someone came over and handed Eames two brown paper bags. Eames thanked the person and stood up. “I ordered the food before you got here. Let’s go over to my place.”

Arthur stared.

“I’m not going to threaten your chastity anymore unless you want me to, come on now.” Eames began walking away, and Arthur quickly got up to follow him. He took one of the bags from Eames’ arms and fell into step beside him. They were quiet for a while as they made their way to where Eames was staying.

“Are you going to the wedding?”

“I’ve just been made Cobb’s best man,” Arthur said by way of explanation as Eames unlocked his front door. He followed Eames inside and to the kitchen. “And you?”

“Can’t make it, something came up.”

Before Arthur could ask what, Eames spoke again. “Can we eat outside?” Arthur shrugged and simply allowed Eames to bring everything outside. Opting against having one of them take the lawn chair that was out on the balcony, they both sat down on the concrete floor. Arthur didn’t comment when Eames stood up quickly and headed back inside, but when music started to play, he spoke as soon as Eames sat back down.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Robbie Williams is practically a national treasure, I’ll have you know.” Eames pointed at Arthur with his chopsticks. “There’s no one in the world like him, and it’s a shame you Americans don’t appreciate him.”

“I don’t understand anything you’re saying right now.”

“So when I’m lying in my bed, thoughts running through my head—”

Arthur decided to tune Eames out and continued to eat his food. Clearly Eames was wrapped up in some kind of moment, and he refused to intrude, or even worse, join him in it. The food wasn’t bad, decent actually, and Eames was clearly hoping for some kind of reaction to the song, and fine, it wasn’t bad— “I kind of like this song.”

“I knew you would. It’s a crime for anyone to dislike Angels.” Eames picked up his chopsticks again. “If I hadn’t gotten myself into this business, I’d probably be famous or attempting to be famous. I was in a band once.” He laughed. “Granted, we were terrible, but I’m sure The Beatles were terrible at one point, yeah?”

“It’s likely, no one starts great.” Arthur handed Eames a piece of broccoli, and the other accepted it without protest. “My first times in dream share were nothing less than a mess. Though, if I wasn’t doing this, Jesus, I don’t know what I’d be doing. My younger years weren’t too interesting. Well, a doctor maybe, I don’t know.”

Eames tapped his chopsticks on the side of the carton he was holding, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Dr. Arthur. I find it hard to piece together.” He paused, and added, almost as if an afterthought, “I like you better like this.”

“A criminal?”

“No—well, yes.” Eames laughed. “Just... this.”

“I don’t think I get what you mean.”

“Sane?” Eames provided, though it was clear he knew his attempt at a clarification was crap. He laughed it off and looked away from Arthur. “It’s just nice, you know, to see that you’re... still in touch with everything.” Eames shook his head. “You’re grounded in reality, and I appreciate that.”

Arthur eyed Eames curiously. There was a certain weariness in his expression, and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Eames was more bothered by the others’ treatment than he’d let on.

“I guess I’ve never been as in love with working within dreams as everyone else. Dreams are beautiful and creative, Arthur—I could probably become anyone I wanted within the dreamscape, but it’s a little bit like losing myself each time. I become this person, and then when I wake up—I’m not.”

Eames didn’t look at Arthur and kept his eyes focused on the distance. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you?”

When he’d been fresh in the industry, Arthur had loved dreaming more than anything. There’d never been anything like it. Paradoxes, impossible shapes—everything was possible in the dreamscape. Yet it’d come with a flaw which was that it’d made dealing with reality more difficult. It made accepting limitations and flaws harder—nothing was satisfying once he’d known a world without limits. The more fantastical the dream, the more jarring reality was and the harder to come back to.

It’d taken several beatings, bullets to various body parts, and a handful of near death experiences to make him realize that he’d been wasting his time being caught up in his imagination. He’d been building things that wouldn’t last; constructed environments that he would constantly need to wake up from, and when he woke up, he would wake up to nothing, and he couldn’t accept living like that.

In the end, what he’d really ended up wanting wasn’t a playground, but a home.

“We’re all fools in one way or another,” Arthur replied, his eyes focused intently on Eames. “But I don’t think you’re a fool for wanting something real.”

Eames was still silent, so Arthur gave up on words and offered him a cigarette. “You look like you need one,” he said by way of explanation, and Eames finally looked at him and laughed. He accepted the cigarette, and Arthur tossed his lighter at him.

“Oh Arthur, if I could only put into words how much I appreciate you right now,” Eames murmured as soon as he’d lit it up. “Feel like running off with me after this job is over?”

Before Arthur could reply, his phone began to ring. Eames motioned for him to take the call, and so Arthur answered it.

“The job’s gotten moved. The mark’s re-scheduled his appointment, so we need to do it tonight. Meet at the loft in an hour. Tell Eames.”

Arthur tossed his phone off to the side carelessly as soon as the call ended. “Job’s gotten pushed forward. We need to head to the loft in an hour.” He and Eames stared at each other silently, and Eames was the first one to break eye contact. He stood up and held his hand out to Arthur.

“The offer still holds.”

“...I’ll have to think about it.”

Eames nodded. “I’ll suppose we’ll continue this conversation another time?”

“I suppose we will.”

 

\--

 

“So this thing between you and Eames…” Ariadne trailed off, and Arthur didn’t bother to look up from what he was doing. He wasn’t going to encourage anything, and if she wanted to ask him something, she’d have to just go through the full awkward experience of stumbling through everything herself.

“Are you guys together, or no?”

Before Arthur could give her the same answer he’d given practically every person that wasn’t Mal or Cobb, the front door noisily swung open to reveal Eames. He glanced between the two of them, his eyes briefly passing over Arthur before settling on Ariadne.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Deciding that throwing Ariadne under the bus was the best option, Arthur spoke first. “Ariadne wants to know if you and I are together or not.”

“It’s nothing you should be asking about, pet,” Eames said as he strolled into the room, groceries in his arms and nearly blocking out his face. “And of all people, you’ve chosen to ask Arthur?”

“Well it’s pretty much an open question now, and what, if I ask you, are you going to give me an answer?” Ariadne asked as she turned to look at Eames but made no move to help him unpack everything. “I can’t figure either of you two out, and it’s annoying me.”

“You should just stop now,” Arthur said finally as he got up off his chair and moved to put his notes away. He rifled through with several documents in his desk—some of them he just began to notice belonged to Eames—and pulled out three fake passports for the each of them. “We’re hardly as interesting as you think.”

“Is a yes or no so difficult to get from either of you?”

Eames turned on the radio. “If you want an answer, or anything close to straightforward, then ask Arthur. You know I never speak in anything but fancy sounding puzzles.”

“Arthur?”

He tossed the passports onto the coffee table, picked up his other notes, and ignored her.

Ariadne let out an irritated huff and got up to leave. As soon as she was inside the bathroom, Eames walked over from where he was and sat down beside Arthur. He pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s neck which didn’t rouse any response, and he chuckled, his breath ghosting against Arthur’s skin.

“So darling, was that a yes or a no?”

At the sound of the opening of the bathroom door, Eames got up and promptly took his place back at the kitchen counter. Ariadne didn’t comment on anything she had or had not seen and returned to her spot back on the couch. She picked up her sketchbook, began to draw out a map for one of their levels and stopped only when a familiar song began to play on the radio.

“What’s this song called again?”

Without missing a beat, Arthur answered her. “It’s called Angels, by Robbie Williams.”

Arthur didn’t even need to look to know that Eames was smiling at him.

 

****

Arthur hadn’t realized the person standing out by himself in the middle of the garden was Eames until he noticed the familiar, but still ugly, tie he was wearing. He was standing still and smoking with his eyes focused elsewhere, and considering the wrinkle in his suit, he’d just arrived from somewhere. However, despite the pleasant surprise that it was to see Eames after the six months that had passed since their last job together, something in Arthur was preventing him from coming any closer.

They’d never continued their last conversation. No letters, no e-mails—absolutely nothing. In fact, according to several people that he’d had jobs with in the past months, Eames had supposedly fallen completely off the radar. Perhaps he would’ve been able to find something if he’d tried looking, but Arthur hadn’t tried.

He was a bit more of a coward than he liked to admit, especially when it came to Eames. Arthur glanced into the ballroom and smiled at the sight of Mal dragging Cobb back towards the dance floor. When he turned his attention back to Eames, the other had already turned around and was smiling at him. Arthur took a deep breath and walked over to him slowly, unsure of what kind of expression he was showing on his face.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Arthur commented as soon as he was close. It was at that moment that Arthur noticed the obvious remnants of a black eye on Eames’ face. Not bothering to comment, he held out his drink instead. “You look like you could use this.”

Eames chuckled. “And people say you have no sense of humor.” He accepted the drink, purposefully brushing his fingertips against Arthur’s in doing so, and lifted it up to his lips. “You’ve been in better shape these past six months I hope?”

“I haven’t been doing much. I helped out on a job or two, nothing eventful.”

“I bet the wedding was beautiful.” Eames let out a sigh and gestured over to the ballroom. “I didn’t bother coming inside. No point in letting Mal’s other relatives know that she’s acquainted with a shady character such as myself.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that, so he opted for silence. Eames began to sing along softly to the song that was being played from the ballroom, and Arthur watched him quietly. Every once in a while Eames would cast a look at him, and each time, Arthur was unsure of what he was trying to say.

“It’s a lovely song. Makes me wish that you and I had a song, Arthur.”

“I’d rather that we not steal someone else’s.”

Eames nodded in agreement and chuckled. “I can imagine that we’ve done enough stealing.” He swayed in Arthur’s direction and held his hand out. “The first time ever I saw your face—”

“No thanks, Eames.”

He withdrew his hand but kept his smile on his face. “Did they dance to this?”

“Yeah, it was their first,” Arthur replied as he turned to glance back in the direction of the ballroom. “Are you sure—” He cut himself off and noticed that Mal was standing by the doorway and watching them from a distance. She smiled at him knowingly and made a gesture of zipping her lips before she turned around and re-entered the room.

“Arthur?” Eames raised an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

“I—” Arthur stilled. Last time, he’d said that he was tired of words, yet here they were once again. They’d been dancing around each other for far too long. Six months had passed between their last meeting, and God knows what had happened to Eames, yet neither one of them had made any effort to contact the other. Neither of them knew what the fuck was going on, yet they kept the game going anyway. There was no clear end goal in sight—things had progressed to a point in which a simple one-night stand couldn’t just be the end of the road.

Regardless of where this game would take them, Arthur was just going to keep playing.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“What?”

“I’d like to tell you that I want to talk, but I’d rather not lie.”

Eames laughed and reached to pull Arthur closer rather roughly. Arthur let him lean in, the scent of the Eames’s cologne and cigarettes lingering, yet instead of kissing him, Eames stopped halfway. Arthur narrowed his eyes but made no move to get out of Eames’ grasp. “Do you want to leave with me or not?”

“Why Arthur, when you ask in such a way, how could I possibly say no?”

 

\--

 

When Eames wasn’t around, everything tended to get quiet. Arthur preferred a quiet working environment, but as he watched Ariadne pace from one corner of the room to another, he could tell she didn’t like it. Yusuf had stepped out for the day; he was busy, and Eames was tailing the mark which left no one to engage her in anything. Before she could pass him for the third time, he put his hand out.

“Why don’t we go for a walk? Grab your coat.”

Ariadne quickly grabbed her coat off a chair, and she practically led Arthur out of their rented loft herself. When she turned around, Arthur had to sidestep to avoid getting whipped in the face by her hair. Ariadne laughed, and Arthur merely smiled back at her as they fell into step together.

“When was the last time you saw Cobb?” Ariadne asked as soon as they were a block or two away from the loft. Arthur paused to think, so Ariadne continued to speak. “I haven’t seen him since the Inception job. I mean, I wouldn’t know what to say, right? Could you imagine me heading over to where he lives with his children and just...talking to him?”

Arthur nodded in agreement and turned to look at her. “Do you want to see him though?”

“I...I don’t know. In a way, I guess I do. I want to know how he’s doing, but on the other hand, I don’t think I could take getting entangled in something else, if there is something else still left to get tangled in.” Ariadne let out a sigh. “I can’t imagine what he went through, though... I don’t know if I’ll ever understand it.”

“Well, you have your own life to live. Maybe you’ll end up fully understanding him, maybe not. I saw him just recently, sometime late last month. He’s doing okay, trying to make his way back into living a normal life. I doubt he’ll ever be the same guy that he was when I first met him and when Mal was still alive and well, but he can always change for the better.”

“Do you think he’ll come back to dream share?”

“He will, in time. I have no doubt about that,” Arthur replied as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. “He won’t be pulling the same kind of jobs, but he’ll be back in one way or another. You know what it’s like to be suddenly away from it all. Reality just isn’t the same anymore.”

“What about you? Could you imagine quitting?”

Arthur shook his head. “Permanently? Never.”

Just as he was about to raise a question of his own, Arthur noticed a man leaning on a streetlamp across from where he and Ariadne were currently standing. From the fact that the person was wearing dark sunglasses at night and sporting an obnoxiously patterned jacket, it didn’t even take him a minute to register who it was. Eames smiled at them from across the street and crossed over.

“Is that supposed to be your undercover look?” Ariadne asked as she took in Eames’ outfit. “Isn’t it supposed to be more…”

“It’s a party, Ariadne, please don’t tell me that you expected me to wear a three-piece suit. If anything, I would’ve expected that kind of remark from Arthur.” Eames crossed his arms over his chest, “I’ll have you two know that my looks were very much appreciated by everyone present.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but Ariadne decided to entertain Eames. “Didn’t bother to go home with anyone?”

“I fancy Arthur far too much to do that to him. Arthur’s the only one who puts up with my musical selections, you know. I almost got kicked off a team once because the architect couldn’t stand U2. Who can’t stand U2? If anything, I should’ve quit the team just for Bono’s sake.”

As Eames and Ariadne launched into a conversation about U2’s best album, Arthur merely hung back and followed after them as they made their way made their way back to the loft. Ariadne went to her room as soon as they got back, leaving Arthur and Eames together in the living room. Eames took to the couch immediately, and Arthur fixed his things.

“Ever consider retirement?”

“What would I do instead?” Arthur asked casually as he organized his files. “I’ve practically been in dream share since the whole thing started. I never even had a summer job when I was younger.”

“Only because you were lucky enough to be so privileged,” Eames commented lightly as he walked over. ”I think we both know who the more honest person is between the two of us though.” He draped his body over Arthur’s and effectively kept him pinned against the desk from behind. “Would you mind working a nine to five job for me, Arthur?”

Arthur nudged at Eames, and the latter allowed him enough space so that he could turn around and look at him. He slowly undid Eames’ tie, and when he looked up once again, there was an unmistakable look of lust in Eames’ eyes. Arthur ignored that, however, and patted Eames’ cheek playfully. “You know I would.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to stick to this,” Eames said with a smile. “Maybe after, once we’re no longer any good for this industry, I’ll try propositioning Chris Martin and ask him if he’d like to start a band with me.”

“Who?”

Eames laughed and kissed Arthur before he could ask again.

 

****

Honestly, Arthur didn’t like pancakes that much. It wasn’t about the way they tasted or anything detailed and intelligent. If anything, there was something about their flat design in the first place that set him off. He held no deep grudge or dislike against them, and he wasn’t so picky a person that he’d refuse to eat them. It was just a minor thing that he preferred to enjoy the structured nature of waffles compared to pancakes—a quirk that he’d never thought about for too long and one that nobody from outside his family had ever taken note of. Yet as Arthur watched Eames prepare waffles, he couldn’t help but wonder if somehow Eames had found out about it.

Having Eames prepare breakfast wasn’t particularly unusual; he did it when they were on jobs or when he stayed over nowadays, and Arthur had been doing the same as well. It’d usually be fairly simple things when they were on jobs though—him and Eames taking the time to cook while Cobb and Mal would just buy breakfast elsewhere. Arthur was sure he wasn’t thrown off by the fact Eames was cooking, but as strange as it was, he was thrown off by the fact Eames was cooking waffles of all things. Arthur knew that there was pancake mix somewhere in his cabinets, a pack left behind by Mal during one of her attempts to pick up skills she deemed necessary in life, but Eames clearly wasn’t using it.

Eames was cooking him waffles, and he was most likely overthinking everything.

“You okay there, Arthur?”

Arthur shrugged it off and picked up the paper, hoping that having something in his hands would displace some of his nervous energy. He cleared his throat and flipped through the business section slowly. “I might just be sleepy.”

Eames chuckled. “You could go back to bed if you like.” He walked by Arthur as he made his way over to the CD player that was sitting on the kitchen counter. Despite the fact that Arthur hardly had any use for it, Eames refused to take it whenever Arthur offered it to him. “I won’t be done for a while.”

“No, it’s okay. You need me to do anything?”

“I’m good. I’m an expert at breakfast.” Eames fiddled with the player for a bit. “After breakfast I’m heading to the—”

“I’ll drive you to the airport,” Arthur cut in as he pretended to read through the business section. “You’re flying to Moscow right? For the Pierson job?”

Eames chuckled. “I’m not surprised you know even though I can’t recall ever talking about it with you.” He turned around to face Arthur and crossed his arms over his chest. “Must you insist on knowing everything about anything and everyone, Arthur? I bet you can cook lunch and dinner too.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and set the newspaper down onto the counter. He gave up on pretending to read it. There was no use trying to hide behind it when Eames was paying attention to him. “Is this your indirect way of telling me I’m smart?”

“Oh, Arthur, you know you’re smart; there’s no need for me to tell you that.” Eames grinned and went to take the waffles out as the waffle maker started beeping. A new song started to play, and Eames threw out a question immediately, “Do you like this song, Arthur?”

“I’ve never heard it before,” Arthur replied as he began to rearrange the waffles into a neater stack. “Why? Do you?”

Eames put a hand over his chest. “I love it, Arthur. The moment I heard it, I realized that life would never be the same for me.” He laughed at the unimpressed look on Arthur’s face. “I was young and in need of... something. I was going through a phase that I’m still not sure I ever grew out of.”

Arthur shrugged. “Everyone goes through phases.” He could feel Eames’ eyes on him, but the look made him uncomfortable, so Arthur kept his eyes on the waffles. “I kept running away from home at one point while I was in high school. I don’t even know why. I just felt like I was missing out on something if I stayed.”

“You were a teenage rebel? I find that very attractive, Arthur.” Arthur looked up to glare at him, and Eames laughed it off as usual. “Well, no matter how many times you insist that I’m lying, I must remind you again that I was in a band once, and we really could’ve been famous you know.” Eames let out a wistful sigh. “You don’t understand how much this song means to me. I even made the plan to name my first daughter Sally.”

“...Because of a song,” Arthur commented as the lyric mentioning Sally passed. He shook his head but kept an amused look on his face. “Okay.” Eames scowled at him, and Arthur just chuckled. “I think it’s... admirable.”

“Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur. Thank you.”

“I—”

“I’d also appreciate it if you stopped rearranging the waffles into some kind of breakfast version of the Penrose Steps,” Eames commented as he walked past Arthur. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not play with your food?”

“Some of your CDs are under the bed,” Arthur said instead of bothering to reply to Eames’ teasing. “I nearly stepped on some of them this morning when I was getting up.”

Eames was quiet for a bit before he spoke. “Remind me to take them with me before I go, then.”

Arthur shrugged and set one of the waffles down onto another plate so that he could eat it. “You can keep them here. I just don’t want them on the floor. Use one of the cabinets or something. I don’t really mind. There’s more than enough space here for some of your things.”

“Thanks, Arthur.”

Things got quiet as Eames continued to fiddle with things in his kitchen, and Arthur once again retreated to his thoughts. After the wedding, things had just kind of escalated between them. Mal had thought of it as romantic, but Dom disapproved of it. Arthur wasn’t quite sure of where he and Eames stood with each other, but he definitely didn’t want to be the person who brought the issue up.

They were adults, and they weren’t really fucking around. It wasn’t like everyone was going to get a Parisian fairytale like Mal and Dom anyway. Arthur was a realist, and Eames was too complicated for Arthur to put in a box. It was highly unlikely that either of them had ever been meant for two kids and a minivan in the future either.

“So, it looks like I’ll have to go early.”

Arthur looked up. “But—”

Eames walked over and placed a CD case down in front of Arthur. “I’d like for you to keep this for me, for no reason in particular. Listen to it if you have the time. Press play and see if you like what you hear.”

Arthur looked at the album and noticed that it was signed. It was clear that the CD had been in Eames’ possession for a while based off the faint scratches and smudges that littered its surface. He held the case carefully and looked up at Eames. There were certain words he could say in this situation, but Arthur didn’t feel they were appropriate.

“Don’t get arrested while you’re in Moscow.”

For now, it was going to be the closest thing Arthur would come to admitting that he’d miss Eames.

 

\--

 

“You’re still awake?”

Eames looked up from his guitar and greeted Arthur with a soft smile. He drummed his fingers absentmindedly on its wooden surface and let out a sigh before he moved it off to the side. He looked oddly young in the position he was in, and Arthur was faintly reminded of the way Eames had looked back in their first meeting.

“You’re not dressed for bed,” Eames commented lightly as he picked up the guitar and set it back onto his lap. He began to strum, but he kept his eye on Arthur all the while.

“I just wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“We’re probably going to need two levels for this dream after all. Simon’s far too unstable. I’ll come up with the plans in the morning and discuss with Yusuf and Ariadne.” Arthur sighed. “We’re probably going to need Yusuf to alter the compound too, considering that you’ve informed me that Simon is practically a drug addict. We can’t allow for him to have any negative reactions to it.”

The whole time he ranted, Eames kept a calm face and just continued to toy with his guitar. It was slightly unnerving. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Of you? Never.”

“Eames—“

“Just teasing.”

Arthur let out another sigh and resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. He was frustrated, much more than he thought he would be. Their mark had turned out to be an even more complicated person than he’d initially thought, and his hectic schedule was making things difficult. Arthur rested against the doorway and waited while Eames stripped out of his shirt. He watched quietly as Eames prepared for bed but made no move to do anything. As soon as Eames was only in his boxers, he came over slowly, and Arthur remained still.

“I think you need to sleep too Arthur,” Eames began as he reached forward to unbutton Arthur’s shirt. “What’s the problem?” He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Arthur’s neck. “Or more importantly, is there anything I can do to make things better? Do you want good times for a change?”

Arthur glowered.

Eames laughed. “Oh please, Arthur, you can’t still be denying Morrissey until now.”

“I can’t relate to his angst.”

“If you’d been a normal teenager like the rest of us, you would,” Eames teased. “No foolish boy that broke your heart? No football star who never knew you existed? No teenage ex-boyfriend for me to be jealous of?”

“I’m not a character from a young adult novel. I don’t do those kinds of things,” Arthur said with a laugh. He leaned against the wall and smiled in amusement. Eames pressed a finger against one of Arthur’s dimples, and Arthur swatted his hand away. “Don’t do that. You know I don’t like it when you do that.”

Eames leaned in, “Just admiring the view.”

“Look,” Arthur began as he moved Eames’ hands away, “but don’t touch.”

“But that’s what all the guys at boarding school said, and none of that was any fun.” Eames quickly flipped their position and pinned Arthur’s hands above his body. Arthur made no move to resist, so Eames grinned happily and pressed a kiss to one of Arthur’s dimples. “If we’d been in high school together, you’d be my favorite classmate for sure.” One of his hands moved away, and he pressed on the buttons of Arthur’s shirt as he spoke. “I would’ve pushed,” he said as he moved upward, “all of your buttons, just to show you that I knew you better than anyone else.”

“Isn’t that what you do now?” Eames grinned, but before he could say anything in response, Arthur wrestled his hands out of Eames’ grip so that he could touch him. He ran his hands over Eames’ tattoos. “Or are you playing for something else?”

“Playing for keeps.”

Despite his best efforts, Arthur smiled anyway. “You’re such a cliché it’s a mystery as to why you haven’t gotten a terrible tattoo of me on you yet.”

“I think you’d look good on my ass—”

Arthur had enough of their conversation and pulled Eames closer. He kissed Eames hungrily, making it clear that he had no intentions of continuing in their conversation. He was sick of this job, sick of the fact his schedule and Eames’ matched so poorly that sleeping in the same bed wouldn’t be worth it, and God damn it, he missed Eames. If he wanted his relationship with Eames to be reduced to teasing quips over breakfast, he’d go back to four years ago.

Eames practically ripped his shirt off, and Arthur didn’t comment when Eames let it fall to the floor. They moved towards the bed, but just as Arthur was about to push Eames down onto it, a loud bang was heard from outside along with Yusuf and Ariadne’s panicked yells.

“Arthur! I think we broke some of Eames’ CDs!”

Eames sighed and rested his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder. “I can’t wait until this job is over.”

 

****

“It’s hard to imagine you as a child.”

Eames turned around, and when he spotted Arthur leaning by the doorway, his lips quirked into an amused smile. He held Philippa close to his chest and moved so that he could face Arthur completely. “I was quite adorable. I can’t say I was dressed that well, but I was a lovely looking child.”

Arthur kept his place by the doorway and held Eames’ gaze. “I guess you lost that loveliness somewhere along the way. You’re about the farthest thing from lovely at the moment, but I suppose the rugged look suits you somewhat.”

“I’m happy for the backhanded compliment Arthur, thank you. Well, I suppose life hits us in one way or another. We can’t all be as lovely as you or this little one,” Eames murmured softly as he glanced at Philippa briefly to make sure that she was still sleeping peacefully. “But I can’t say that it’s been too hard on me. It could always be worse.”

“I suppose.”

“When did you get here?” Eames asked. “To be honest I was expecting you to come sooner. It’s not every day that your best friend pops out a living thing, you know.”

Arthur sighed and stepped a little closer to Eames. He briefly recalled the shitstorm that was his last job and opted not to bring it up. Eames didn’t need to know about any of that anyway. “I arrived just now. Cobb picked me up at the airport and drove me here before he headed elsewhere.”

“I see.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’ve got another job to run point for. I just wanted to see Philippa for the first time.”

Eames looked down at the baby in his arms. “He came here to see you, but he’s not coming any closer. Honestly, Philippa sweetheart, I think he’s scared of you.” He looked up at Arthur, “You can handle a gun but not a baby?”

“You know it’s not the same thing, Eames.”

The only children Arthur was really capable of handling were his brother’s, and he hadn’t seen the two girls in nearly three months. He’d barely been around when they were babies—his life entirely wrapped up in the beginnings of the chaotic industry of dream share—and now he was entirely clueless about how he was even supposed to hold Philippa. She looked like the most delicate thing he’d ever seen in his entire life, and he didn’t want to touch her, most especially after the amount of violence he’d just seen only hours before.

“Don’t be scared,” Eames murmured as he took two or three steps closer to Arthur. “She’ll be fine, even if she cries.” He eventually closed the distance between the two of them and held Philippa out for Arthur to hold. “Come on now.”

Arthur took a step back. “I’d rather not.”

Eames chuckled and turned away. “Fine then. I’ll hold her enough for the two of us then. Even though you insist on being so difficult, could you at least turn on the music? I put a CD in there earlier, and it stopped playing some time ago.”

It was an easy enough request, so Arthur complied. He walked over to the CD player, and just as he was about to press play, he noticed the empty CD case lying beside it. He picked it up and read the title on the cover aloud. “Volume One of Dearest Philippa, You Will Only Listen to the Best. Amusing title.”

“I reject the notion that this beautiful girl should only be listening to Mozart or Cobb’s boring classics. Allowing for Philippa to listen to Bono at such a young age guarantees her a bright future. Press play, Arthur.”

As soon as the first song started, Arthur left his spot by the CD player and sat down on the chair closest to the window. As usual, it wasn’t a song he was entirely familiar with, but Eames looked happy to hear it play. He watched Eames as the other moved around the room with Philippa, an odd sort of dance, but one that seemed appropriate.

“With or without you, with or without you, I can’t live, with or without you,” Eames sang slowly, his eyes focused entirely on Philippa. It seemed like an intimate moment despite the obvious contrast between the two, and Arthur felt like he was intruding on it. He stood up to leave, but just as he’d walked past Eames, a hand wrapped around his wrist. “I think the two of us need to talk.”

He was right.

“Where should I go then?” Arthur asked, making no move to break contact.

“Stay here, I’ll put Philippa down,” Eames said as he finally let go of Arthur’s wrist. He put Philippa back down onto her crib, and Arthur remained where he was standing. As soon as she was tucked in, Eames turned to look at Arthur, and they stared at each other wordlessly.

“You look like shit, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t comment. He knew Eames was right. For Eames to say that meant he probably looked even worse than he felt, considering that Eames hardly looked like his usual self either. Eames’ knuckles were bruised and he had what looked to be a fading black eye. Arthur, on the other hand, was even worse of a mess. He’d been shot at, both in reality and in dreams, and it was a good thing that most of the bullets had missed their mark in reality. He’d only gotten to sleep in the plane and in the Cobbs’ minivan of all things, and Jesus, Arthur couldn’t think of the last time he’d eaten properly.

“I don’t need you to…” Arthur trailed off and bit back the rest of his sentence. His relationship with Eames was at a delicate balance, and there was no point in stirring things up just because he’d gone through hell. Neither of them still knew what they had together, but it was a good thing on most days, and Arthur wasn’t going to let this go to shit too.

“Eames, I’m tired. I just want to go back to sleep.”

“You look like you need to eat first.”

“Eames—”

“Let’s not argue. Arthur, just sit down here, beside Philippa’s crib. Go to sleep, or doing something else. I’ll get you something to eat.” Eames gently pushed Arthur in the direction of the chair by a table, and Arthur fell into it carelessly as soon Eames had left the room. He stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that had been attached to the ceiling and counted them until he gradually began to feel himself give into sleep.

Yet before he could fully lose consciousness, he heard Eames step back into the room. He tried to blink away his tiredness, and it worked somewhat as everything became a little clearer. Eames walked over to him, pulled over a chair for himself, and set down a plate in front of Arthur silently.

Instead of reaching for the sandwich, Arthur reached for Eames instead. His hand moved slowly as he brushed over the roughness of the stubble along Eames’ jaw. “You’re okay, right?” Arthur asked softly. “You look only a little less terrible than me, and you and I both know I look like shit.”

“I’m fine, Arthur.”

Arthur held the position for a while before he eventually gave in and closed the distance between them. The kiss was soft at first, a tentative reacquaintance, but Arthur eagerly opened his mouth for Eames to deepen the kiss. Their position was awkward, but there was nothing Arthur could appreciate more than the closeness and intimacy with someone whom he genuinely trusted.

Maybe it was okay for them to not say anything about what was going on between them. There was hardly a need to talk about lines when both of them were constantly crossing them. At this point, Arthur fully understood that they didn’t have to try to be like Mal and Cobb who’d built a home and a family; all they really needed to be was themselves.

Philippa began to cry, and Eames pulled away from Arthur. They shared a glance, and for the first time that day, Arthur let out a genuine laugh and buried his face into the crook of Eames’ neck as he pulled him back closer to prevent him from standing up and moving away.

“Arthur—”

“She’s not our baby.”

Eames’ laughter and the music in the background weren’t enough to sound out Philippa’s wails, but it was enough to make Arthur remember what it was like to finally be home.

 

\--

 

As much as Ariadne tried to hide her nervousness, Arthur could still tell from the way she was fidgeting that she was tense. He wanted to tell her that it would go away, but probably the only thing that could change was how well she hid her anxiety. There was always a reason to be afraid. One could do all the research in the world, but the only way to know how everything would pan out was once the job had actually started. There were a million and one ways for everything to fall to pieces in a dream, and there were no promises that waking up guaranteed an escape from danger either.

Yet here he was, risking everything once again despite the danger. Eames was right, there was no sane person in dream share.

“We don’t know what he took last night; will the compound still be okay?”

Yusuf nodded as he handed it over to Arthur. “I’m sure of it. Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ve made the necessary adjustments. Everything might feel a tad bit slower for everyone, but it won’t be too noticeable.”

After a couple of more questions, Arthur left Yusuf to his devices and watched as Ariadne toyed with her chess piece. She caught him looking at her and smiled. He smiled back and decided that it would be best to leave her on her own. Yet just as he turned around to grab the PASIV, Arthur nearly slammed straight into Eames.

“Jesus Christ—”

“Worried to let the bird out of the nest?” Eames asked with a teasing grin on his face. “She’ll be fine. We’re not pulling another round of inception, Arthur. Two levels is practically child’s play at this point—easy in, easy out.”

“So you say,” Arthur replied as he glanced back to see Ariadne pick up her bag and sling it over her shoulder. “It’s strange to be put into this position. I’m torn between trying to convince her to quit regular architecture entirely and telling her that she shouldn’t want to be a criminal.” He looked away from her and returned his focus to Eames.

“Any reason behind this sudden mother hen behavior?” Eames asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking lately,” Arthur admitted with a shrug. “But that’s not a matter that’s up for discussion right now. What about you? Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. What’s the countdown again?”

“Don’t Look Back in Anger,” Arthur answered as he examined the PASIV to make sure that everything was in order.

When Arthur turned around, Eames was smirking. “Oh, Arthur, you really shouldn’t have.”

“Just this time Eames, just this time,” Arthur replied as he brushed past Eames to talk to Yusuf.

 

****

Aside from Las Vegas, New York was probably one of Eames’ favorite places. It was oddly cliché of him to enjoy New York so much, but Arthur hadn’t protested when Eames had asked for them to meet there. As of late, Arthur had mostly given up on trying to resist anything related to Eames or whatever Eames did. Eames called it a victory, and Arthur knew it for what it was.

It was never much of a matter of believing that Eames’ feelings were real. If anything, it was more of him believing that his own feelings were real. He’d been in relationships before, and Arthur knew he was a difficult person to be with. He was slow to warm up to others, and he found it difficult to commit to anyone. But as he watched Eames smoking his second cigarette of the night from across the room, Arthur was absolutely sure that his feelings were real, and that he was here with Eames because he wanted to be. There was no way either of them could disregard their recent behavior and the fact that they’d both come from opposite ends of the world just to see each other.

Arthur rolled over and brought the sheets closer to his body. He closed his eyes and listened to the music that was playing in the background of the hotel room. His interests in music were shallow, nothing he’d ever put much effort into. He’d always been more of a reader, but as he heard Eames singing along softly to the Elvis Presley ballad that was playing in the background, it brought a smile to his face anyway.

Deciding that sleep wasn’t the best option at the moment, Arthur turned around once again to look at Eames. He’d made enough noise on the bed to make Eames notice that he was awake, and so Eames was watching him carefully from his spot by the open window.

“I don’t know if it’s good for you to be standing there like that,” Arthur chided softly as he curled up into himself. Eames chuckled and crushed his cigarette onto the marble ash tray. Just as Arthur considered getting out of bed to join him where he was, Eames stood up and made his way over to the bed. He sat down at the foot of the bed, a short distance from where Arthur was lying down, still tangled in the sheets. Arthur sat up slowly but kept the sheets close to his body.

As Eames glanced out the window, Arthur took the time to examine Eames’ body. There was a faint redness left on the spot where his new tattoo was—something he claimed had nothing to do with Arthur—but more distinct than that were the ugly bruises that littered his body. While injury was nothing new to him, Arthur had to tear his eyes away from the bruises.

“I have a flight to catch,” Eames said slowly. “I’m going to head to Las Vegas and meet a couple of people. One last job, if only for now. I need a break, don’t you agree?”

“I think we both do.”

Silence fell between them, and Arthur’s idle mind briefly recalled his last talk with Dom. He glanced at Eames as he thought back to the conversation but opted not to bring it up. He pushed the blankets aside to pull at Eames’ arm and urged him to lie down beside him. Eames complied, and for doing so, Arthur pressed a quick kiss to his lips. As they lied down side by side, the faint ringing of Eames’ phone disrupting the silence, Arthur reached out blindly to brush his hand against Eames’.

Maybe he was meant to say something at this point. He looked at Eames in an attempt to find some kind of signal, only to find that Eames was already looking at him. Was that how things had always been? Arthur looked away and stared up at the ceiling, still fully aware of the intensity of Eames’ gaze on him.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Arthur breathed out, fully aware of the steady breathing of his heart and the warmth of Eames’ hand against his. “This isn’t a dream, is it? This is us. We’re here, fucked up and far from perfect, but it’s real.”

“If this were a dream, Arthur, we’d be fucking instead of talking.” Eames rolled over so that he was lying down on his stomach, and at that point, Arthur realized it was inevitable to keep avoiding the his gaze. He stared back at Eames and Eames kissed a spot on his chest. Eames draped himself over Arthur, and Arthur adjusted so that he was pressing back against him.

He watched as Eames traced lazy spirals on his skin, and when his finger came to a halt, Eames finally looked up at him again.

“Elvis Presley,” he murmured as a new song came on.

“Your kind of guy?” Arthur teased. “Or does your love for queen and country not allow for that?”

Eames ignored the jab and sang softly. “Love me tender, love me true.” He pressed a kiss to Arthur’s jaw. “Never let me go.”

Arthur remained silent, unsure of what to say. So instead of saying anything, he reached to grab for Eames’ hand and slowly intertwined their fingers. Eames’ lips quirked into an amused smile at the gesture, and he held Arthur a little bit closer. “Meet me in London next month. You know where. Let’s take a break, just the two of us. You can buy things for me that I’ll never wear, and I’ll teach you how to actually win at poker for a change.”

“For how long?”

“Until you get sick of me and want to go back home, wherever that is.”

“Okay… so indefinitely.”

Arthur wasn’t much of a romantic, but he knew his answer was enough. He could tell from the way that Eames pressed him back against the mattress, softly, slowly, and carefully. “I’m surprised your answer wasn’t a little more specific,” Eames murmured against his skin, making sure to place emphasis on the last word. Yet before Eames could try to initiate something further, Arthur grabbed at his wrists and flipped him onto his back.

“You’re gonna miss your plane,” he whispered against Eames’ lips, fully aware that his body was betraying him as Eames’ hands settled at his waist and began to move lower. He gasped and bit his lip before he forced out a few words, “You can’t stay.”

“Of course I can stay, Arthur,” Eames drawled. “People can wait, and there’ll be other planes to catch.”

Eames’ phone began to ring, and Arthur reluctantly rolled aside so that Eames could pick it up. He watched as Eames talked to whoever was on the other line before he gave into his exhaustion and dozed off. When he woke up, Eames was getting dressed. Arthur watched him intently, and as Eames buttoned his shirt, he glanced back and caught Arthur.

“Like what you see, darling?”

“It’ll do,” Arthur replied faintly as he rolled to the opposite side of the bed.

Eames chuckled and quickly packed his things. As soon as he was finished, he went over to the bed, the mattress dipping with his added weight, and Arthur turned back so that they could kiss. When Eames pulled away, he briefly ran his hand through Arthur’s hair. “I’ll see you in a month.”

He nodded.

“There’s a present for you on the counter, it’s beside your phone,” Eames said as he pulled away. He took his bag off the floor and spared Arthur one last look before he left the room. Arthur couldn’t go back to sleep afterwards, his mind far too awake and restless to allow him to slip back into slumber. However, once his phone began to ring, he reluctantly got out of bed and made his way over to the counter.

Before he picked up his phone to answer the call, he took Eames’ gift off the counter. He shook his head in amusement at the CD case and pulled off the note that Eames had attached to the gift.

_Didn’t expect a volume two, did you? Belated happy birthday. I’ll get you something leather, branded, and obscenely expensive when I get the chance._

Arthur kept the note in hand and answered his phone without bothering to check who the caller was. “Hello?”

“Arthur, I need your help.”

“Dom?”

“Mal... she’s dead. I can’t explain everything now, but I will. I...I..I need your help getting out of the country. I’m going on the run—and shit, Arthur, I don’t know what to do, please, I need your help.”

“Dom, I—”

“Arthur, please, you’re the only person I can turn to.”

Arthur swallowed hard, his eyes focused on the note Eames had left him. He gripped it tightly in his hand and turned his eyes away from it sharply. Before Dom could say anything else, he spoke.

“What do you need me to do?”

 

\--

 

“Well this is going swimmingly,” Eames said as he entered the room and stripped off his leather jacket. He tossed it onto a chair and was about to walk over to where Arthur was when he noticed what Ariadne was wearing. “I’m feeling very uncomfortable right now, and not in a good way.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “Certain measures needed to be taken.”

“Well Ariadne, I think this new look…” Eames sat down on the bed beside their unconscious mark. “It’s interesting to say the least. I didn’t know you’d work such an attire. This makes me see you in a completely different light.”

“I guess I should drop out of school now and pursue this lifestyle since it suits me so much,” Ariadne shot back as she got up from where she was sitting to help Arthur with the PASIV. “What do you think, Arthur?” She gestured over to where Russell was lying down. “It’ll allow me to be near famous people all the time. I think that’s a pretty good perk.”

Arthur grabbed Eames’ jacket off the chair and tossed it at Ariadne for her to wear. “Don’t listen to him. Stay in school, don’t do drugs, and ignore Eames.” He ignored Eames’ protest and adjusted the beds so that they were closer together, making sure not to jostle Russell. “Come on, let’s hurry up and get this done already.”

“You don’t want to appreciate the presence of a celebrity for a little bit longer?”

“Don’t even start, Ariadne; save the fangirling for when we’re back in the real world,” Arthur shot back as he went over to hook Eames up to the PASIV. At the sight of Eames’ amused face, he scowled. “Don’t let me get started on you.”

“What did I do?”

“A stage dive into a sea of projections? Really, Eames?”

Eames’ grin widened. “I couldn’t resist. Some people grow up wanting to be doctors or God knows what, and some of us just want to be rock stars. You have to let a man live his dreams, Arthur.”

“I think you’ve had enough dreams to last a lifetime.”

“A dreamer dreams, he never dies,” Eames murmured to Arthur before the Somnacin kicked in.

 

****

Arthur had never really been one for gambling, but when Eames had asked him to come along with him, he went. The venue had been some person’s apartment, slightly shady and dingy—the kind of place Eames adored, and the night had been easy and relatively calm. Eames had mostly kept his hands to himself, and instead of playing until things went sour like he usually did, Eames had called it quits with majority of his winnings intact. Arthur didn’t ask any questions, he just followed Eames silently.

It was all really some kind of waiting game, one that Arthur knew how to play all too well. He’d wait out until Eames started talking. It was just a matter of how long it would take.

“Do you have a lighter on you?” Eames asked as he brought out a cigarette.

As usual, Arthur was prepared. He brought it out of his coat pocket and lit up Eames’ cigarette just as he’d done various times in the past. They stood face to face, with Eames only turning his face away so that he could exhale.

“Smoking’s bad for you.”

“Says the one who provided the lighter,” Eames shot back. He glanced at Arthur. “Did you quit?”

“Around two months ago,” Arthur answered as he placed his hands into his pockets. “I just carry the lighter around now. For some reason, it makes it easier to stop. I just play around with it.”

Eames nodded and held his cigarette up to his lips. “Well, you’re full of surprises tonight.”

“I couldn’t let you be the only interesting one this relationship,” Arthur replied as he turned away from Eames to look at the Seine. It reminded him of Mal and how she had made a painting of it for one of his birthdays. The thought of it brought up pain that he’d thought he’d buried long ago, so he looked away.

He didn’t like to think about how both of them had lost more than just a dear friend. Everything they’d had before Mal’s death had been put on hold, and at this point, Arthur didn’t know if they’d ever get that back.

Eames continued to smoke silently beside him, and Arthur wasn’t sure of what to say. They’d talked here and there in the past few months—crappy calls mostly on Arthur’s end, a result of being on the run with Dom. They’d seen each other only briefly over the past year, and Arthur didn’t even know how they were still holding together when it seemed like everything was constantly on the verge of falling apart.

“You don’t think this job will work,” Eames said finally, breaking the tense silence between them. “I heard it from Cobb, and I can see it in the way you act. You think it’ll fail, and you’re too loyal to back out.”

“So are we having this conversation so that you can somehow change my mind? Or are you asking me to quit?” Arthur asked softly as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “Ariadne doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She doesn’t know any better. Yusuf’s here for the money, and Saito’s practically driven by money. Yes, I don’t think it’ll work, but that won’t mean I’ll do my best to make sure it does. I’m a fucking professional.”

“I know you are. It’s why I came.” Eames’ tone was notably muted now, and he stepped a little closer to Arthur. “You’ve put yourself on the line for Cobb, and I’ve done stupid things for stupid reasons in the meantime. It took me a while, but I got over myself and am mostly trying to put the past aside. I’m not used to loyalty, Arthur, but I’m still here.”

Eames fell silent, and Arthur sighed. “I just want this to be over.”

“I know.” He felt Eames’ body brush against his as Eames moved to stand in front of him. Arthur looked up and met Eames’ gaze, serious and yet tired at the same time. He offered his cigarette to Arthur, and Arthur sighed. Would they even know what to do once things were over? They’d both been on the run in various ways for so long that he wasn’t sure if they could go back to how things were before.

“You look like you need this.”

“God damn it, Eames, I told you I quit.” He pushed Eames’ hand away gently and grabbed his other hand instead. “Come on, let’s get a coffee or something. I can’t work like this.”

Eames allowed himself to be led, and when he intertwined his fingers with Arthur’s, Arthur made no move to let go. If there was one thing he understood about Eames, it was that at his core, his behavior vaguely resembled a child’s in some ways. He was both easily delighted and easily distracted. If his mind was running with thoughts about inception, Robert Fischer, and God knows what, Arthur was more than happy to play distraction. The two of them needed something else to think about anyway.

They entered a small café that looked to be new and relatively empty, and Arthur led Eames to the counter. A surly looking teenager greeted them a good evening although his tone clearly indicated otherwise, and Eames forced a polite smile while Arthur didn’t even bother.

“You need to order,” Arthur insisted without missing a beat. “Put your winnings to use. I’ll get the table.” Before Eames could protest, he pulled his hand away from Eames’ and sat down at the table closest by the window. When Eames came over, he had one coffee in hand and set it down in front of Arthur.

“You’re the only one who has any plans of working tonight,” Eames said by way of explanation. He sat down and leaned back into the chair, his eyes fixed on Arthur. However, he held his silence, and so Arthur said nothing and instead sipped at his coffee slowly. He looked around at the place and drummed his fingers on the table idly as he waited for Eames to talk until he noticed the song that was playing in the café.

He looked at Eames. “It’s their song.”

“I know,” Eames replied as he traced absentmindedly on the surface of the table. “It’s a bloody good song, but it’s one I don’t like listening to anymore.” He glanced over at the counter where the teenager was standing and staring at something on the wall. “If I asked him to change it, would he?”

“Just let it play,” Arthur answered as he cupped his coffee with both hands. “It’ll be over soon.”

They sat in silent reflection as they both paid attention to the last sounds of Roberta Flack’s singing. Arthur hadn’t heard the song for a long time. With one glance, he could tell that Eames was probably thinking the same thing. Deciding to make the most of the lull in their conversation, Arthur took the time to fully appreciate Eames for the first time since the other had showed up in Paris. Aside from picking Eames up at the airport and bringing him to where they were staying, they hadn’t had much time together except for now.

Arthur could feel his exhaustion to his bones, and although he didn’t believe that their heist would work, every single inch of him prayed that it would. There was nothing he wanted more than for everything to be over. He was tired of running after and with Dom. He couldn’t take another long-distance phone call, and above all else, he wanted to go home, wherever it was at this point. Maybe he and Eames couldn’t go back to the past, but they could at least salvage what was left of it.

“I hate this song.”

The comment jerked Arthur out of his thoughts, and he instantly took note of the look on Eames’ face before he paid attention to the song. “I like it,” Arthur said instantly as soon as he realized what the song was. Before Eames could say anything, he moved to explain himself. “My mother used to play it whenever she wanted to feel like painting.”

“It’s a sad song, Arthur.”

“But it’s a classic.”

“Arthur, don’t. Of all the songs you choose to bring up and actually know, did it have to be this one? They have many other lovely songs. This one is far too depressing.”

Arthur shrugged. “I know.” He brought his dice out onto the table and played with it idly. “But you can’t stop associations like that, and I enjoy the song despite its theme. It reminds me of when I was younger.” He looked up at Eames. “I can’t say it’s a song I’d like to associate to the two of us, though.”

Eames cracked a smile at that. “So what would you say our song is?”

“I don’t know. We can think about that later.” Arthur gripped his cup a little tighter as he shifted in his seat. The last thing he wanted to do was bring Eames’ attention back to everything that was at risk for them. “If things run smoothly and we pull off the impossible then we can bring the question up again.”

He raised his cup. “Until then, you and I will have to make do.”

Eames reached across the table and flicked the other side of Arthur’s cup with his fingers. “Until then.” It seemed he was perking up a little, and Arthur was glad. Eames leaned back into his chair and reached out with his other hand to run his fingers along Arthur’s knuckles, “You know I adore your plans, Arthur, so let me hear another one. It’s quite clear mine hardly work out.”

“Don’t say that, this job is running on one of your plans.”

“Fine then. Ignore what I said and focus on this question instead. Arthur, what do we do after we pull off inception?

Arthur met Eames’ gaze and replied easily, “We go home.”

Eames chuckled and looked out the window, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

\--

 

“So this is it, huh?” Ariadne stuck her hands into the pockets of her jacket and smiled up at Arthur brightly. “Thanks for seeing me off. Until next time?”

“Until next time,” Arthur repeated, a similar smile on his face. He reached into his bag and held out a gift for Ariadne, something Eames had carefully wrapped only hours prior. “This is for you. Eames said not to open it until you were on the airplane and several miles away from him.”

Ariadne glanced down at the gift then back at Arthur. She shook it. “What is it?”

“Let’s hope it’s not drugs.”

They both laughed at that, and Ariadne reached down in order to bring her bag up and sling it over her shoulder. She fidgeted with a kind of nervous energy and laughed at herself before she looked up at Arthur. “Where are you guys going? Do you have another job lined up?”

“Eames has a job in India next week. I’m still waiting to hear from someone else on a job since he’s still forming the team. Actually, he’s looking for an architect. You interested?”

Ariadne shrugged. “I don’t know. I might have something to do... and I’m just not really sure what I should be looking for right now,” she explained. “I’m not sure what I should be doing with myself.”

Arthur studied Ariadne carefully then replied. “Don’t think too much. You’ll make a few mistakes, but you’ll figure things out eventually. Just keep your eyes open.” When Ariadne didn’t respond immediately, he continued, “It sounds like crap advice at the moment, but it works better than it sounds.”

“I’ll trust you on that then,” Ariadne said finally as she began to unwrap the gift in front of Arthur. She stuffed the wrapping paper into her bag and glanced at the uncovered CD before she looked up at Arthur, an amused smile on her face. “He’s too old fashioned. A CD? Really? I told him I didn’t need one.”

“Well you know Eames, he doesn’t listen to anyone. I’ll tell him you said thank you.” Arthur gestured to the airport terminal behind her. “You’re going to miss your flight if you don’t hurry up.”

Ariadne stepped in and hugged Arthur, and when she stepped back, she smiled brightly. “I’ll listen to it as soon as I get home.” Arthur watched her leave, and as soon as she was inside, his phone began to ring. He didn’t bother to check who the caller was and simply picked up the call.

“What is it?”

“Did Ariadne like my present?”

“She said it was old fashioned,” Arthur answered as he began to make his way back to where he parked the rental car. “She also said that she didn’t need one.”

Eames chuckled. “So she liked it then?”

“I guess.”

“Excellent.”

Eames continued to chatter, and Arthur kept his phone to his ear as he listened absentmindedly. He had unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat when he noticed something Ariadne had left behind on the passenger’s seat. He picked up the CD and shook his head in amusement when he saw the note Ariadne had left on it.

“So she knows?” Arthur voiced aloud, interrupting Eames’ monologue.

“She wouldn’t be such a smart girl if she didn’t. What clued you in on that? Did she tell you?”

Arthur held the CD in his hands and ran his thumb along the glass. “She left me a note on one of your gifts.”

“What does it say?”

“Now I know where you two went after we finished the inception job,” Arthur read. “That’s pretty much it. She didn’t say anything else on the note.”

Eames laughed. “Well, she doesn’t know the details, and I think that’s the far more interesting story.”

“No, you’re right, she doesn’t.” He opened the CD case and placed the CD into the player before he started the car. The first song started to play, and Arthur smiled to himself. “The rest is a story we keep to ourselves.”

 

****

Arthur was surprisingly well-adjusted for someone that had just taken a plane straight to London right after arriving at LAX airport. Aside from the faint buzz of the drinks he’d had throughout the night, he was still on a high after a job well done and capable of standing on his feet. Everything felt surreal—like he’d just woken up from a very long dream, and every once in a while, he needed to take his totem out just to reassure himself that he was in reality. His brain still needed time to wrap itself around everything. He was no longer on the run with Dom, and Dom was back with his kids in America.

Everything was over.

The flight from LA to London had been a decision of pure instinct. They hadn’t even needed to discuss it. He and Eames had bought the tickets without hesitation, and everything that had followed after was somewhat of a blur. How they’d gone from Heathrow airport to someone’s seedy looking apartment—Eames had a love for these kinds of places—was a blank period in his mind. He’d just followed Eames without hesitation or doubt.

“Where’s your boy?”

The question startled Arthur out of his thoughts, and he stopped toying with his loaded die. He vaguely recognized the man as the person that’d been sitting across Eames at the poker table and shrugged. “I don’t know, actually.” He pocketed his die quickly and stood up. “I’ll go looking for him now. Do you need something?”

The man laughed. “Ask him to join us at the table again, I’d like the chance to get my money back.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

They went their separate ways, and Arthur slipped past the crowds of people to head out. He had a feeling he knew where Eames was anyway. He stepped out of the building, and unsurprisingly, he found Eames out on the sidewalk.

“Where have you been?”

Eames turned around, and when he saw Arthur, he grinned sheepishly. There was a cut on Eames’ lip, and despite the dim lighting available outside, Arthur could see the signs of what looked to be a bruise appearing on Eames’ cheek. He dropped his cigarette onto the pavement carelessly and replied, “I was just about to head back inside, actually.”

Arthur walked up to him and pushed Eames’ hair away from his face, “Should I even bother to ask what happened?” His fingers lingered on Eames’ face, and his thumb lightly traced the bruise that was on the other’s cheek. His eyes met Eames’ again, and he looked at him disapprovingly. “A fight, really?”

“Drunk men don’t tend to get along.”

“You’re not drunk,” Arthur pointed out.

“I guess not,” Eames said with a laugh. “But a good offense is a good defense, isn’t it?” He leaned over and quickly gave Arthur a quick kiss to the lips. He set his hands on Arthur’s waist and tugged him a little closer. “Let’s go back inside. You can sit on my lap again for more good luck, and I’ll surely win a little more tonight.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Arthur, here we go again with these limits and boundaries,” Eames teased softly as a thumb snuck underneath Arthur’s shirt to stroke bare skin. He leaned into Arthur, and Arthur could smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke that lingered on Eames’s skin and clothes.

Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut when he felt Eames’ lips press against the delicate skin of his neck. “We can’t just stay here the whole night,” he whispered softly as Eames’ mouth moved lower. “Come on. Let’s go home.” He opened his eyes again as Eames pulled away and smiled before he turned to walk away from the apartment.

When Eames continued to lag behind by a couple of steps, Arthur turned around to look at him. “What are you doing?” He stopped, and Eames stopped as well. “Why are you— “

“You won’t be able to get a ride with me looking like this,” Eames said with a laugh. “I don’t look proper.”

“You rarely look proper, so stop being an idiot and come here already,” Arthur argued back. He flagged down the first cab that came their way, and when it stopped in front of them, he pulled Eames in. Eames rattled off his address and then leaned his head against Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur hardly spared a glance at Eames and instead directed his gaze elsewhere. He reached into his pocket once again and grasped his totem loosely in his hand. When he looked at Eames, the other man was toying with his poker chip.

It was oddly reassuring to know that he wasn’t the only one having difficulty accepting that everything was real.

A song began to play on the radio, and Eames asked for the cabbie to turn up the volume. He reached across to touch Arthur’s hand, and Arthur glanced at him. “I used to play this song a lot when I was younger,” Eames explained as he traced a pattern over the back of Arthur’s hand. He chuckled. “I was an emotional kid.”

Arthur smiled fondly. “I had a feeling. The attachment to Oasis was a big enough clue.”

Eames hummed thoughtfully and toyed with Arthur’s watch. “Good times for a change,” Eames laughed to himself. “I think it’s fitting for us, don’t you think?” He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was more thoughtful. “We’ve been through a lot, Arthur.”

“We have.”

Silence fell between them, and Arthur looked out the window. They were almost to Eames’ apartment. When he turned his attention back to Eames, the other man was also looking out the car window. He was about the farthest thing from suave at that point—visibly tired and bruised, but nonetheless, underneath all that, was the same Eames that had hooked Arthur long ago.

But now that Arthur had thought about it, perhaps it hadn’t really taken much effort on Eames’ part to hook him in the first place. They climbed out of the cab together, and Arthur reached out to grab Eames’ hand. He intertwined their fingers and looked up at Eames expecting a response.

“Is this your way of giving me what I want?” Eames teased softly.

“It’s not the first time,” Arthur shot back. He stared at Eames and didn’t feel the need to say anything further. He knew what Eames wanted from him, and it certainly wasn’t something as simple as sex or handholding. He wanted Arthur to stay, and Arthur, as always, was willing to give him that and more.

This wasn’t a relationship of pushing and pulling anymore. It didn’t matter who had more to lose or who had put more on the line. They’d both stopped counting a long time ago. Eames was no longer putting up fronts, and Arthur had no intention of running away.

They went up together silently, and when they reached the front door, Eames finally spoke. “You’ll have to let go so that I can grab my keys.”

Arthur dropped Eames’ hand so that he could unlock the door. As soon as Eames had it opened, he grabbed Arthur’s hand again and pulled him inside.

They’d already stopped by as soon as they’d gotten to London, but they hadn’t done more than drop their things off before Eames had dragged Arthur out of the apartment again. But they were here now—indefinitely, and Arthur wasn’t sure how to feel anymore.

As usual, Eames put on some music, and just as Arthur was about to enter the kitchen, Eames called his name. He walked over slowly and held out a CD case. Arthur took it from him, and when he finally read the title that had been scrawled messily on the CD case’s cover— _Volume 3: Fuck Inception, We’re Staying in London Forever_ , he looked up.

“You didn’t have to.”

“But I did anyway, since I never listen to you,” Eames teased softly. He kissed Arthur gently then retreated to get something from the bedroom, leaving Arthur all alone in the middle of the living room.

There were still several things of his littered all throughout the place. There were a few postcards and letters from his brother, a couple of photos of him and Eames attached to the walls, a painting Eames had made for one of his birthdays, a couple of books—some worn out from years of reading and others unfinished, and probably a couple of his clothes were still in the closet. Eames hadn’t stopped living in his apartment and hadn’t kept Arthur’s things untouched despite his absence. There was a tea stain on the cover of his copy of _Things Fall Apart_ that Arthur was sure hadn’t been there before, but it was the normalcy of it all that he found difficult to swallow.

Arthur spent so many years on the run that he wasn’t sure if he remembered what it was like to have a home—to be home. Everything was familiar, and perhaps he and Eames were the only ones that had really changed. They were different now; they were no longer the same people who’d made that promise to meet in London.

Yet, as Arthur caught Eames’ eyes from across the room, Arthur couldn’t help but think that perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“Is everything to your liking?”

Eames was leaning against the wall and observing him with an unreadable look on his face. Arthur gestured to the window. “You could probably use new curtains.”

The corner of Eames’ lips quirked into a smile, and he visibly relaxed in front of Arthur. “I’ve been lost without you here to help me in coordinating the furniture. I may have also purchased far too many useless products off the home shopping network, and if you find certain illegal objects in the house, I’d like to tell you that they’re not mine.”

Arthur chuckled. “So I guess things haven’t changed much since I left.” He looked around the apartment while a familiar song played in the background, Eames’ gift still in his hands. He made his way around slowly and eventually stopped in front of Eames.

They’d come a long way. It’d all started out as a game at first—but it was clear that neither of them were playing and that the game had ended a long time ago. They’d gone through hell and back to get to this point, and Arthur knew better than to lie to himself or to think of Eames’ feelings as something other than what they were. He would have to adjust to London and domesticity, and Eames would inevitably need to fully address his issues with Dom, but they had all the time in the world to sort those things out.

“You know you’re stuck with me now, right?” Arthur asked, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “If you bring strays home, they never leave.”

Eames smiled. “That was always the intention, darling.”

Perhaps they were crazier than they both knew—risking their lives on a near daily basis, and betting everything on a relationship that had once been just game. But whether they were fools in love or just plain foolish, they’d always be fools driven by wild dreams. They’d never truly stop being themselves—a thief in search of honesty and a lost kid in search of a home, and maybe they were the farthest thing from a fairytale, but this reality, as imperfect as it was, was what they’d wanted all along.

 


End file.
